


And I Draw a Line

by Mount_Seleya



Series: The Book of the Mother [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Heartbreak, Loveless Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Daenerys, POV Jaime, Past Brienne of Tarth/Jaime Lannister, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post-Season Six, Referenced Past Rape/Non-con, Showverse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/pseuds/Mount_Seleya
Summary: Jaime Lannister, heartbroken by the abrupt end of his betrothal to Brienne of Tarth, becomes unhappy consort to the new queen. Daenerys Targaryen, hoping for a favourable marriage alliance, finds the Kingslayer is as complicated as he is honourable.





	1. Jaime I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This starts _in medias res_ from chapter fourteen of _[Take What the Water Gave Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554154/chapters/23312656)_. If you're coming into this for the Jaime/Dany, and don't wish to read 50,000+ words of Jon/Cersei first, there's a summary of this AU's circumstances in this chapter's endnotes. The one chapter of _TWtWGM_ that I might recommend reading, even if you're not interested in the fic as a whole, is [chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554154/chapters/25920438), which depicts Jaime's reaction to Tyrion proposing the marriage alliance with Daenerys (from Cersei's perspective).
> 
> Title from the song "One Line" by PJ Harvey.

The slow chime of fork against goblet rang through the hall. Silence snuffed out the raucous chatter of the feasters. "The Queen and her new husband wish to retire," proclaimed Tyrion, mild and warm as a summer's breeze.  
  
Jaime flexed his fingers where his hand sat upon the table. _People mustn't see her as a foreign invader set upon ending their cherished traditions_ , Tyrion had told him. A silver head swung around. Daenerys wore a bemused look. He clenched his jaw, giving her a short, tight nod.  
  
Chairs were already screeching out all around the room. Feet stomped and clacked their way toward the High Table. Then the beasts were upon them, wolves and moose and bears, winter-hardened Northerners hungry for a diversion. Women engulfed him in a flurry of hands, tugging at the flat, golden clasps lining his black leather jacket.  
  
"Up you get, _Kingslayer_ ," hissed a girl, ale thick on her breath.  
  
"I regret I'm bound by oath to serve only my queen," Jaime rejoined in an acid tone.  
  
He stood, arms stiff at his sides, back arrow-straight. His gaze flicked to where Brienne sat beside Sansa. Her eyes answered his own, blue as the vault of the heavens, but the set of her features was one he knew all too well. That hard, graven expression that armoured her against the world's scorn, veiled all the agonies of her heart.  
  
Men now surrounded Daenerys. A bawdy song broke out as they pawed at her white gown. Jaime looked across the hall. Two empty chairs yawned like missing teeth where Cersei had sat with her royal husband earlier in the evening. Bronn and the ginger wilding were still there. The sellsword found his eye. Flashed a grin and lifted his flagon.  
  
The bedding party herded bride and groom out of the hall. Buffeted them through grey corridors, snatching, laughing. Then the bedchamber door crashed open, and the tide of hands retreated, leaving them alone and half-clothed.  
  
"I must apologize for that hateful custom," Jaime said, pitching his voice low enough to bring out its grit.  
  
A smile curved the fullness of Daenerys's lips. "I take it you've never been to a Dothraki wedding."  
  
"Can't say I have," Jaime told her. _Just keep talking. Give her the challenge she craves. See this night ended._ "I saw what the Dothraki did to the Freys at the Twins. It's sport to them, isn't it? Cutting men down like farmers clear their fields?" He cocked his head to one side. "I don't expect such a fierce people make a polite little affair of marriage."  
  
"They consider less than three deaths at a wedding dull," Daenerys replied.  
  
It staggered Jaime a little, the warm, playful tone. There was the tiny spark that had flickered to life during the feast. Candlelight gilded the soft angles of his wife's face. Her hair hung loose over the pale sweep of her shoulders. All that remained upon her slight frame was a thin, white shift, a wisp of silk that did little to hide her form from his eyes.  
  
She was young, and beautiful, with a wit as keen as a knife. Any man might give his balls to share a night with her. Perhaps, in another life, he could want her. Maybe even love her. Tonight he must answer the demands of duty.  
  
Jaime steeled himself. Took a decisive step forward. Then another, and another, until his height bore down on Daenerys. "Well, here we are," he pronounced, dragging the words out, his left hand settling into the dip of her waist.  
  
Daenerys peered up at Jaime. Brushed apart the unbuttoned halves of his red shirt. Flattened her hands on his chest. "I dreamt of you as a girl," she admitted softly. "That you came to murder my brother and I like so many other men." Fingers skimmed Jaime's skin. "You had no face. I couldn't picture one. I never thought I'd want to know you."  
  
Jaime's breath caught. His heart clenched within his chest. He didn't know what to say or think or _be_ for this woman. Didn't know how to unmake the fiend who'd haunted her dreams or play the gallant of his brother's good word.  
  
Mustering his resolve, he buried his face in the arc of Daenerys's shoulder, pressing the point of his nose to her neck. He dare not breathe. Dare not let himself know her scent. Not when he yearned to smell steel and clean sweat.  
  
A gasp fled Daenerys when Jaime began mouthing at her neck. Nails bit tiny sharp crescents into his chest. Pushing his false hand into her back, he drew her against his body, his mortal hand rising to tangle in the spill of her hair.  
  
In the dark behind his screwed-shut eyes, with long hair flowing between his fingers, was the ghost of something lost. The glint of green eyes; the cut of a cruel smile. It was an ache that lived too deep in his heart to ever be unseated. And so he cleaved to Cersei's image, his lips harrying tender skin, striving to fan a feeble spark into flame.  
  
Soft pants burst across Jaime's ear. Fingers clutched at his short hair. She was trembling, now, this slip of a queen. This woman who had brought half the known world to heel on dragon-wing and claimed him as her consort.  
  
Jaime unlatched his lips. Touched his nose to Daenerys's ear. "What appetites did you pick up in the east, I wonder?" The mummer's words poured out of him in an easy drawl. "Not quite the man I was once. But I think I can be of some use."  
  
Daenerys nudged Jaime away. Her dark brows clashed. "I do not wish to be seduced on my wedding night."  
  
Boots thudded against stone as Jaime took distancing step. He flexed his jaw, sucking in a sharp, steadying breath. "I was hoping to make this… _union_ …more agreeable," he said, measuring each syllable as if treading upon ice.  
  
"I didn't know you find my company so displeasing," Daenerys returned coolly.  
  
Jaime's forbearance cracked. Anger twisted in his gut. "A man who doesn't want to bed the famous Dragon Queen." A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. "Shocking, isn't it? How will your pride bear such a wound?"  
  
"Do you know why I wed you, my lord?" asked Daenerys, her voice like the quiet at the heart of a storm. "Not for your armies or your gold. For your _honour_. I trusted you would never withhold the truth from me."  
  
"It seems my brother put a great many notions in your head."  
  
"I value his counsel," Daenerys allowed.  
   
"You could've had any man in the realm. I'm sure you had no lack of suitors. But you wanted _me_ , didn't you?" Fool's bluster, Jaime knew, and yet his tongue charged ahead of him, as it always did, heedless of the trouble it made. "Did you swoon? Soak your smallclothes? Long for the day I'd stick my sword in you and take your maiden's blood?"  
  
"I did not expect our marriage to begin with a quarrel," Daenerys rejoined.  
  
"I was betrothed to Brienne of Tarth!" Jaime snapped, a raw, seething scrape of sand. "I asked her father's blessing. I _got_ her father's blessing. One man in all the kingdoms who thought me truly worthy of his daughter. His _only_ daughter. Now he'll curse me for an oathbreaker like all the rest."  
  
Daenerys's eyes went round. The moon-white column of her throat shuddered. Something in the air seemed to shift. "You love her," she stated, small and halting. "Tyrion assured me your betrothal was one of mutual advantage."  
  
" _Mutual advantage?"_ Jaime said, his voice sharp with fury.  
  
"A woman nearing five-and-thirty and a man trying to allay certain whispers."  
  
"Do I hear judgement in your tone? The last dragon, sneering at _me?_ " Jaime tipped his head. Narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I fucked my sister, like your father, and his father, and every bloody Targaryen who ever lived."  
  
"I did not choose the nature of my parentage," Daenerys shot back.  
  
There was a fire in the words. A fire that Jaime had thought spent long ago. _You are your mother's daughter_. The spectre of Queen Rhaella took shape in his mind, slender shoulders and lovely, porcelain-fine features. She'd been a bulwark of hard, unshakeable sense against the madness of her husband, the airy detachment of her son.  
  
Jaime huffed out a soft sigh. He held Daenerys's eyes for a span. Words clotted on his tongue. Melted to nothing. Then he turned from her and stalked to the ancient oaken table fitted into the far corner of the chamber.  
  
His fingers made clumsy work of the buckles of the stiff leather bracer securing the false hand to his right forearm. Gold met wood with a hollow _thunk_ a moment later. Feet padded over as he rolled off the small red sock.  
  
"How?" came a hushed inquiry from his side.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Jaime replied, eyes fixed on the puckered ruin of his stump.  
  
The echo of Brienne's panicked screams rose from his memory. He recalled the swift shattering sear of Locke's knife. It had been worth it, in the end, the price he'd paid for her. He'd found a wholeness with her body bowing beneath him. The sort of communion he'd once thought could only be shared with the woman with whom he had been knit soul and sinew.  
  
A hand clasped Jaime's right forearm. Wrenched him from his thoughts. "Does it pain you?" asked Daenerys.  
  
Jaime grimaced. Coldness twinged through his phantom fingers. "Still feels like it's there at times."  
  
Silence unspooled between them. Jaime slid his arm out of Daenerys's grasp. Turned to meet her sea-green gaze. For forty-one years, another pair of green eyes had been his home, his heart, his constant spur to folly.  
  
"I do not wish us to be strangers," Daenerys broached at last.  
  
"I have twenty years on you," Jaime said.  
  
Hands lifted to frame Jaime's face. Thumbs swept along his stubbled jaw. "Then you have much to tell."  
  
"No," Jaime said firmly, jerking his head out of Daenerys's hold. _She wants my candour. Not more pretty lies. So be it._ "'Making love,' they call it. I've never fucked a woman I didn't love. Don't imagine a few happy childhood stories will make it any easier."  
  
Daenerys said nothing. Her face was as still as stone. Jaime spun, then, striding to the bed. He kicked off his boots. Let the red silk shirt slide off his shoulders to settle in a graceless puddle upon the cold grey flagstones.  
  
Cloth rustled. Footsteps slapped closer. Then the bed creaked under a soft weight.  
  
When at last Jaime looked, Daenerys was lying flat on her back, her hair molten silver spilling across the dark furs. Her eyes were closed, plush lower lip caught between her teeth, bosom heaving with the tide of her breath.  
  
Jaime knelt on the bed. He nudged Daenerys's thighs apart with his hand. Eased two fingers between her slick folds. A gasp shuddered out of her as he found the hard little pearl secreted between them and began tormenting it.  
  
" _Faster_ ," Daenerys demanded in a breathless husk.  
  
He did as she bade him. Worked her rough and swift. He owed her this small kindness. This little sliver of relief. Soon, she was grinding her cunt into his hand, and not long thereafter, her back arched on a long, ringing cry.  
  
"Turn over," Jaime ordered when Daenerys's eyes opened a moment later.  
  
Daenerys pushed herself upright. Fire burned in her gaze. "I will not be treated as a broodmare."  
  
"Broodmares have _foals_ ," Jaime countered viciously. "You've made it clear I won't be putting any Lannisters in you."  
  
Eyes pressing shut, Jaime thrust his hand down to his groin, fumbling open the laces of his breeches. He freed his disinterested member, letting an image of bright, sky-clear eyes fill the black as he stroked himself to hardness.  
  
Small hands bore Jaime backwards onto the bed. His eyes flew open as Daenerys slung her legs over his hips. Palms bracing upon his chest, she slowly seated herself upon his cock, a sweet wet clasp swallowing him to the root. It was a mercy when she began to move. It felt less like his own doing. Less like his body betraying his heart.  
  
Jaime dammed his eyes to the sight of her. Placed his hand on her thigh. She was rolling, now, sinuous as a serpent. He gave himself to the pleasure of it, hips jerking up in answer to her rhythm, fingers biting into soft skin. Beyond her quiet moans and her too-slight weight atop him was something good, something pure, something _right_.  
  
He chased that spark deeper into the night behind his eyes. Silver scars on long legs. The rare quirk of a smile. He wanted Brienne, needed _her_ , all her warmth and strength and light, the way she never suffered his worst.  
  
Release finally took Jaime. A raw groan tore its way out of his throat. His mind went blank. Shrunk into cold oblivion. He felt his flesh rebelling, every traitorous shudder and deep, animal grunt as he spent into his barren wife.  
  
Jaime quickly found his breath. His eyes snapped open. "Get off," he snarled at Daenerys.  
  
Daenerys clambered from her perch. For an instant, the hurt was plain on her face, then her queenly mask returned. Jaime tucked his cock into his breeches. Turned onto his side. Closed his eyes. Prayed for the choke of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series' universe diverges from canon events at the end of season six. Arya was captured in the Frey-held Riverlands while searching for Nymeria. Someone recognized her from Harrenhal. The Freys didn't kill her. Their intent was to make good on the betrothal to Waldron Frey that Robb agreed to as amends for marrying Talisa. In a bid to put down the Northern rebellion, Cersei decided to use Arya as leverage, sending Needle to Winterfell as proof of life, and demanding Jon come south to marry her.
> 
> Jaime fled King's Landing. He marshalled those bannermen loyal to him. Then he met up with Brienne, who had been sent south by Sansa, in order to try to bargain for Arya's release. At some point, he confessed his love for her, and they began an intimate relationship. Together, they freed Arya, then marched north to the Twins, where they took the South Tower. However, the Freys managed to hold the bridge, resulting in a months-long stand-off. They were the only great house loyal to Cersei. Part of her plan to weaken the North was using their control of the crossing to cut off the much-needed supply of winter provisions.
> 
> Meanwhile, Jon, now husband to Cersei, was being held as a hostage in the Red Keep. Cersei fell pregnant with twins on the wedding night. Jon slowly started to sympathize with her and see her humanity despite the horrible way she treated him. Euron Greyjoy courted Cersei, offering his navy. Pleading for their unborn children, Jon convinced her to refuse Euron's offer, and surrender the Iron Throne to Daenerys.
> 
> Daenerys and the Dothraki horde broke the Frey blockade in the Battle of the Twins. The Freys who surrendered the South Tower to Jaime were spared. Those who held the North Tower were executed. Jaime and Brienne were also spared, and allowed to escort Arya home to Winterfell. 
> 
> Cersei gave birth to her twins, naming them Joanna and Damon. Daenerys chose Joanna as her heir. Sansa had revealed Jon's Targaryen heritage to Daenerys in a bid to convince her to save him. However, Daenerys decreed that Cersei was to be executed, as punishment for blowing up the Sept of Baelor. Jon, Cersei, and their children fled the capital with the help of Tyrion and Varys. Sansa offered Jon the Dreadfort, now hers by right as Ramsay's widow. However, when they arrived in White Harbour, Jon received a raven inviting him and Cersei to Winterfell for Sansa's wedding...to _Petyr Baelish_.
> 
> The wedding turned out to be Sansa's ploy to gather all of the people Baelish had hurt most in a single place and reveal his crimes. Jon executed Baelish. Jaime, who had decided to winter at Winterfell with Brienne, now his betrothed, delivered Robb's bones to Jon. He also offered gold to Bran. Bran, now married to Meera Reed, simply asked him to plant a weirwood at Casterly Rock.
> 
> A few months later, Jon decided to journey beyond the Wall, hoping to capture a wight to convince Daenerys of the coming threat. During his two months away, Cersei, feeling isolated and abandoned, kissed Jaime. Jon, a warg, witnessed this through Ghost. Brienne had her suspicions. Ultimately, she set her hurt aside, but a seed of doubt was planted within her.
> 
> An assassin sent by Olenna Tyrell unsuccessfully tried to kill Cersei. Jon returned a day later. Upon learning Cersei was pregnant again, he initially assumed it was Jaime's, but they soon patched things up, with Jon choosing to forgive her infidelity.
> 
> Daenerys arrived at Winterfell with her armies a couple of months later. However, at Tyrion's counsel, she came seeking a marriage alliance with Jaime, hoping to further unite the realm and rein in Cersei by becoming her sister-by-law. Jaime reluctantly consented. Brienne, still troubled by his suspected infidelity, let him go.


	2. Daenerys I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter very well may never have seen the light of day. Thank you to readers who've been patient with me. Your support and enthusiasm for seeing this fic continued has motivated me to dust it off after a nearly nine-month hiatus. _Take What the Water Gave Me_ has moved beyond the wedding, so if you've been reading it, you'll have an idea of where this fic is headed. The next chapters will thus most likely be playing catch-up to events that have already unfolded in _TWtWGM_.

Morning leaked grey through the window. Cast the face turned toward Dany in half-light. Jaime's eyes were still shut. The lids flickered in sleep. His left hand twitched around a fistful of furs. He'd turned in the night, longing, seeking.  
  
Dany's heart faltered. _My husband_ , she reminded herself. The thought sat uneasily in her stomach. Lifting her right hand, she cupped the strong, angular hinge of his jaw, the silvering shadow of his stubble rasping beneath her palm. A soft slow puff of a sigh gusted out of the sharp nose. The lips curled into a smile at once warm and wicked.  
  
_He's dreaming of Brienne._ Guilt knifed through Dany's chest. Jaime was a stranger to her. Perhaps he'd always be. She'd made Drogo love her. Gentled him like a stallion. But Jaime was a lion, and lions were caged, not tamed.  
  
The bed creaked faintly as Jaime roused. Long legs shifted under the furs. He hummed, a deep, rumbling sound. His eyes peeled open, blue and startling and fogged by sleep, and he blinked groggily into the space between them. Blood thundered in Dany's ears. Then the water of Jaime's gaze settled. His jaw flexed under her hand.  
  
Jaime laid for a time, silent and still, his gaze holding hers. Dany cracked a fragile smile. Hope bloomed in her heart. The pad of her thumb ran along the cut of a cheekbone. _Love comes in at the eyes_ , a remembered voice told her.  
  
" _Don't_ ," Jaime snarled at last, a low, gravel-rough punch of anger and hurt.  
  
Dany sat upright as Jaime rolled and slinked out of the bed. She clutched the covers to her chest with shaking hands. Fury swelled hot and terrible in her breast, unfurling like great, dark wings, and she swallowed against a dry throat. "I did not give you leave to rise, my lord," she said, her voice as smooth and imposing as a wall.  
  
Jaime pulled his cock out of his breeches. "Didn't know I needed your permission to piss."  
  
The soft ring of urine hitting the steel of a chamberpot sounded a moment later. Dany glared at Jaime as he stood, mouth ajar and head tipped back slightly, until at last he gave his cock a sharp little jiggle and tucked it away. "High point of my morning, I expect," he drawled, sharp and bitter, nudging the pot under the bed with his toe.  
  
"Is this what passes for honesty to you? Clever, cutting words?" Dany challenged.  
  
"Yes," Jaime shot back. He bent to retrieve his crumpled shirt from the floor. Guided his stump into the right sleeve. "Don't deny my tongue its sport. That's what makes matrimony bearable, isn't it? The little joys one allows oneself?" His left hand slid into its sleeve. "Cersei suffered Robert by fucking me. How did you endure your horselord?"  
  
Silence engulfed the room in the question's wake. Jaime fastened the buttons of his shirt one-handed. Scarlet silk pulled together slowly, sealing away the black-dusted chest and the long, leanly-muscled span of his belly. When he was finished, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.  
  
Dany let the covers slip from her grasp. Shuffled toward Jaime on her knees. Her palm settled between his shoulders. Muscles tensed under the silk of his shirt. _Look at me_ , she thought. _Don't turn your eyes from me. I am your wife._  
  
"You should dress," Jaime told her. "I imagine someone will be here shortly to ensure we've consummated our marriage."  
  
"My Hand will come when I send for him," Dany returned evenly.  
  
A scoff stabbed out of Jaime's mouth. He unseated Dany's hand with a roll of his shoulders. Leaning forward, he shoved his boots on one after another, then sprung to his feet, striding to where his false hand rested on the table. Drowned light blunted the gleam of gold to a dull brass. The hand was dead weight for all its craftsmanship.  
  
Despair seized Dany's heart in its cold grip as she rose. She dressed in the clothes Missandei had left on her trunk. Her coat and gown were black wool, and the long, scaled cape hung off her right shoulder in a spill of crimson.  
  
"You will take your breakfast with me," Dany pronounced when she finally turned to face Jaime.  
  
"Or what?" Jaime cocked his head to one side. "I'll be dinner for your dragons?"  
  
"You mislike me," Dany replied. "You've every right. I've wronged you." The words tightened the knot in her chest. "But you bent the knee to me. You consented to become my consort. Your allegiance is clear. It must remain so."  
  
"You want me to play at tender devotion?" Jaime said savagely. "You have everything: my armies, my gold, my _oath_." The lion's claws were out, now, slashing, wounding. "My father would've considered you a formidable enemy, I suspect. You've damned my line as he nearly damned yours. Except you've done it without spilling blood. Just my seed." His lips flicked into a cruel grin. "You let some stain the sheets, I hope? Not like your womb had need of it."  
  
Dany's heart quivered. Tears welled in her eyes. She recalled the hot close air in Drogo's tent and Mirri's frenzied chanting. The last twist of Rhaego within her belly and the terrible emptiness that had taken his place when she awoke.  
  
Feet swept toward her. Fingers clasped her upper arm lightly. "That was undeserved. Forgive me."  
  
"You do not know what it's like to lose a child," Dany said, tiny and faltering.  
  
Jaime's lips firmed. Something swam deep in the blue of his eyes. "No, I suppose I don't."  
  
Dany blinked. Her vision broke into a shimmering smear. _You are a dragon_ , she told herself. _Dragons do not weep_. But a wound had torn open inside her chest, a raw, aching gulf that seemed as if it might swallow her heart.  
  
A hand cupped her cheek. The thumb chased away a falling tear with a slow swipe. It was so unexpectedly gentle. She wondered how a man who'd cut her with the lash of his tongue could salve the pain with a touch.  
  
"Talk to me," Dany implored after another river of silence had run between them.  
  
"What would you have me say?" Jaime said, his voice like the soft scrape of wave over shore.  
  
"I would have my husband return to bed tonight less of a stranger."  
  
At that, Jaime cracked a smile, brittle and wide. He pushed a stray tress behind Dany's shoulder. Then his hand dropped to his side, fingers flexing in a twitchy spider's dance, rose-gold against the cuff of his black leather jacket. She thought of her first wedding night, so many years ago, when Drogo had offered her but a single word.  
  
The sudden drum of knuckles on wood shattered the still. Dany's boots clipped grey stone as she moved to answer. Iron hinges shrilled their protest as she pulled open the heavy oaken door to reveal a familiar face.  
  
"I hope I am not disturbing you, Your Grace," greeted Missandei in a calm voice.  
  
"Not at all," Dany replied, standing aside to grant her friend entrance.  
  
"My lady," Jaime said, tipping his head at Missandei. Turning to Dany, he added, "Your Grace." Then he marched out of the chamber with three long, sweeping strides, cloak swaying behind him like a red banner in a listless wind.  
  
Dany closed the door and drifted over to the table. Missandei settled behind her as she sat in the chair. Pale light shivered across the handle of the silver hairbrush as her steady brown hand took it from where it lay on the tabletop. In the small, gold-framed glass set against the wall, Dany saw a madwoman, hair wild and eyes red-rimmed.  
  
"He loves her," Dany confessed as Missandei smoothed out a tangle.  
  
"Words cannot mend a thing that has been broken," Missandei averred. "Only time, and patience."


	3. Jaime II

Cold stung Jaime's face as he entered the courtyard. Morning light glittered on the hard-packed snow. The sun was still hanging below the eastern rim of the ramparts, pale, buttery rays reaching into the clear blue of the sky.  
  
He didn't know where his feet were taking him. Only that he needed to get _away_. Away from his wife's pleading eyes. Away from the chasm in his heart that seemed to crumble wider with every breath he spent in her presence.  
  
"Oy, Kingslayer! Dragon Queen give you a good ride?" a voice barked at him suddenly.  
  
Jaime stopped dead. Whirled with a snap of his red cloak. Two young guards stood sentry at the front gate. Both of them were clad in leathern coats-of-plate and wore bulbous steel helms atop stringy hair the colour of sodden earth. His left hand lifted to roost on the pommel of his sword. A year in chains had left him little love for Stark men.  
  
"Must get dull freezing your balls off out here," Jaime remarked as he stalked over to the gate.  
  
"Aye," grunted the taller of the two guards. "We were just discussing your bedding. Your wife's a fierce little mink, isn't she? Got ourselves a nice feel of her royal tits."  
  
"Did you?" Jaime needled. "Have the scullions grown a bit too quick with their knives?"  
  
"Don't you mock me, Kingslayer," the guard shot back. "I'd sooner stick my cock in a sow than fuck my sister."  
  
Black rage surged up from the pit of Jaime's stomach. Steel rang as he unsheathed his sword an inch. He remembered dark blood crawling down red marble steps, and the strange, terrible cold of a thousand blades beneath him. "' _Kingslayer?_ '" he said, head inclining as his lips cut a vicious slash of a smile. "It's just 'King' now, I think."  
  
The taller guard drew his sword. His fellow cast him a sidelong look. Fear was plain in the gape of his eyes. Jaime clenched his jaw, drawing his own sword with a silver peal, an urge to maim blotting all thought from his mind.  
  
"That's enough, lads," came the roll of a familiar voice.  
  
Jaime's head swung around. Bronn came to a halt beside him. Grey eyes flicked to meet his own. One thin brow carved upward, and Jaime shoved his sword back into its sheath, a steaming huff punching out of his mouth.  
  
The slow screech of a second sword sheathing followed. Bronn gave the guard a jerk of a nod and then turned. Jaime trailed after him as he clipped across the courtyard toward the archway leading into the castle.  
  
"Your brother wants a word," Bronn said when they were out of hearing.  
  
"Kindly remind him that my private affairs are none of his concern," Jaime replied tartly.  
  
"He's the Hand of the Queen. Your wife happens to be queen. Seems to me your affairs are his job."  
  
They passed through half-lit corridors. The castle was only beginning to rouse. A lone maid dashed by on the stairs. At last they arrived at a heavy oak door, and Bronn lifted a fist and gave the wood three hard, resounding knocks.  
  
"Ah, Jaime," Tyrion greeted with a mild air when Bronn pushed the door open a moment later.  
  
Jaime stepped inside the chamber. His brother was sat at his desk. Sunlight drenched the papers strewn upon it. Smoke curled from the blackened wick sticking out of the waxen stump at the bottom of a pewter candlestick.  
  
Bronn took his leave. The door creaked shut. Tyrion held Jaime's eye. Silence bloomed between them.  
  
"You made the Mother of Dragons weep," Tyrion said after a time.  
  
Guilt twisted Jaime's heart. He jerked his gaze away. "You've seen her, then?"  
  
"Yes." Tyrion's voice was small in a way that belied a weariness.  
  
Jaime shifted. Cast his gaze down at his black boots. His fingers found the leathered grip of his sword and clenched. "Whatever it is she wants, I can't give it to her," he said, a low, gravel drag, tight as a storm-swelled sail.  
  
"She wants a husband," Tyrion demurred quietly. "Is that really so terrible?"  
  
"I was _betrothed!"_  Jaime snapped, jerking his head up and pinning his brother with a glare.  
  
"That didn't keep you from falling on top of our dear sister at the first opportunity." Thin lips quirked into a rueful curl. "Be grateful she's won the devotion of Ned Stark's son. No other man would claim your bastard as his own."  
  
"The child is Snow's." Jaime swallowed a dry gulp. "But what would you know of fatherhood? Or _love?_ "  
  
"I had a wife once," Tyrion returned, his voice shrinking to a strained creak.  
  
Another pang of regret shocked through Jaime's chest. The image of brown eyes wet with tears rose in his mind. She'd been wisp of a girl, the wheelwright's daughter, barely older than the callow, downy-bearded boy he'd been when he took the white cloak. Yet she played her part all too well. Tyrion had fallen for her in the span of a night. Then they'd eloped.  
  
"I know," Jaime said. "I arranged the encounter with the rapers." The words caught. "I was an idiot. I'm sorry."  
  
Tyrion lowered the speckled grey quill in his hand to the desk. "You don't know what Father did to her, do you?" he pressed. "No, of course not. _The golden son_. You rode back to King's Landing the next day and fucked Joffrey into Cersei."  
  
"Don't speak ill of Father," Jaime warned, hand falling to his side in a fist.  
  
"He wanted me _dead_. Do you expect me to _grovel?_ Did you grovel when you stuck your sword in a king's back?"  
  
Jaime released a breath. Flattened his lips into a line. "Why did you call me here?"  
  
"Daenerys Targaryen deserves the best of you."  
  
"She seems to fancy everything under the sun hers by right. Perhaps, as her Hand, you ought advise some sense into her head."  
  
He turned, then, cloak swishing. The doorknob was cold as he gripped it. Bronn gave him a look as he threw open the door. But he strode off down the corridor without a backwards glance, his feet hastening him away, away, away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's revealed in the books that Tysha was actually just a peasant girl who fell in love with Tyrion and that Tywin compelled Jaime to lie about her being a hired whore. But that version of events has never been confirmed on the show, and so I'm sticking to the account Tyrion tells in S1E9, which has Jaime recruiting Tysha to make a man out of him. The date of the incident in the showverse can be worked out to c. 282AL (the year of Joffrey's birth) based on the fact that Tyrion states he was 16 at the time, and we know from S2E9 that he's four years younger than the twins, who were forty in S4E1 (302AL).
> 
> Thanks to half_life and emaiyl for their moral support. I do plan on catching up on replies. I just wanted to get this out while I had the creative momentum.


End file.
